UNHOLY

Ms. Aubrey

I wake up once again, tired, having a maelstrom over my head as I look like a rascal: I could tell through passing my fingers through my long, red locks of hair and feeling how messy they were. A long, tired yawn was taken away from my sore lips as I lift up my weight, placing my glasses in front of my eyes so I can catch a glimpse of the so-called "World" we live in.

It feels like hell, honestly.

Tying my hair in a bun, I hurry my steps towards the bathroom, that cold place where I'd usually purify myself from whatever that exists in this world. Opening that rusty sink, water began to run down, being pulled by gravity towards the drain, which would make an eerie sound. Something I was already used since I was forced to listen to the same sound countless times. Soon enough, my entire duty there was done, but my day was far from finished, anyway.

Descending to the kitchen, the sickening smell of food furiously penetrates my lungs without any warning, and so I feel that urge to puke my intestines out from my body, fulminating them as blood would drip all around the floor, life draining from my eyes as I meet the death I crave so much. My lazy hands withstand my hunger, which was unbearable at that rate; I didn't feel like eating, but I couldn't take in that amount of sinful dirt inside me.

After all, that lazy routine is complete, I take steps outside the gray building that I host myself on: The windows are foggy, but I can clearly see that there are no caprices inside these messy rooms. They are not supposed to be nice either cozy, but something that can provide me enough shelter for the piercing cold that hurts my back. The snow that falls melt once they reach my hair and the hands on my pockets are not able of keeping their temperature neither. I'm left alone in the snow, during this cold winter day.

Another day, another few sins to wash away.

My footprints are left behind right before I can enter the damned church that I work on. Bringing my heavy, tired body into the purified halls of light, I let my being be carried away by something I can't explain. It couldn't be faith, need neither, but something else.

I have the power in my hands, my dirty, hurt and cold hands.

I am the God inside this place.

And this is how everything starts.

Taking out that specific and peculiar bible from the altar, I open it. The dust, that now seems to be almost heavenly, taint my fingers in a gray tone as I cough; My lungs aren't how they used to be back when I was younger, but far from that, they were failing mercilessly, leaving me breathless and amazed by how time is cruel, and how it consumes me and this mortal body of mine.

But I got no time for these cheap excuses, I got no time for simple words, no time to play around like a kid, who's a mere creation for spreading purposes. People insist to taint this world with sins by making other living beings, they are filthy, sinful.

This hurt voice leaves my throat with enough strength for anyone to listen, if there was, in fact, someone to. I'm alone here, spreading words no one cares about anymore, and that hurts, it hurts my pride, my joy: How can I be something when there's no someone between God and pigs?

It's the beginning of my hunt.

Time to force them to notice that God is right here.